


A Touch of Clarity

by whatadramaqueen



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exes, Light Angst, M/M, alex is a little oblivious bless his soul, if you're looking for violence drugs or murder this is not the fic for you, literally just a coming together story, there are cats at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 06:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18148184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatadramaqueen/pseuds/whatadramaqueen
Summary: "Alex," the young man says again, more confidently this time, the sides of his mouth curling into that smile, the one that Alex fell in love with all those years ago.He's still as gorgeous as Alex remembers. He's wearing a tank top that reveals the dozens of freckles scattered over his shoulders and down his arms, and shows off the bicep and shoulder muscles that have only gotten more toned since they've last seen each other. His hair is longer now too, messy brown curls escaping from a haphazard ponytail and falling into his face.In which Alex sees John in an airport for the first time in five years.





	A Touch of Clarity

Alex bounces on the balls of his feet, scanning the large crowd for Eliza. He keeps anxiously glancing down at the bouquet clutched in his hands, as if the flowers would wilt if he doesn't keep a close eye on. The airport is filled with noise and people, both of which create a fog of sorts that snakes into every corner of the room and into his ears, very slowly pushing him to the brink of madness. 

_ Eliza is very lucky that I love her, _ he thinks venomously, backing towards the wall. The hard plaster at his back offers solidity, if nothing else.

The crowd in front of him is a blur of colors, constantly moving, faces laughing and brightening with reunion and yelling. He catches a glimpse of a few that look as forlorn as he feels, but they're rare and disappear from his sight after only a few seconds. 

He sighs, wondering if Eliza had somehow missed her flight, but no, she would have texted or called. Eliza isn't malicious enough to do something like this to him for the fun of it. 

"Alex?" a hesitant voice asks from his left,  _ finally a familiar voice, _ and he closes his eyes and briefly thanks every god he can think of, because he feels like he's going insane, and Eliza is finally here. 

He turns, starting to breathe her name in relief, "Eliz—" but he breaks off, because it's not Eliza standing in front of him. The person isn't even female. It's a face that simultaneously causes an ice cold hand to squeeze his heart into a vice-like grip, and his mind to go fuzzy with longing. 

"Alex," the young man says again, more confidently this time, the sides of his mouth curling into that smile, the one that Alex fell in love with all those years ago.

He's still as gorgeous as Alex remembers. He's wearing a tank top that reveals the dozens of freckles scattered over his shoulders and down his arms, and shows off the bicep and shoulder muscles that have only gotten more toned since they've last seen each other. His hair is longer now too, messy brown curls escaping from a haphazard ponytail and falling into his face. 

John. 

"John?" 

"Yeah." Grin now in full force, he stretches a hand out for Alex to shake, like they're strangers. "Fancy running into you again, Alexander Hamilton." 

It's like his name said with that voice is what breaks through the fog clouding his mind, because suddenly the pleasant fuzziness turns into something that feels a lot like anger. Resentment. 

He raises his chin, doesn't return the smile. He keeps his free hand firmly pinned to his side. "Nice to  _ finally _ see you again, John Laurens." He puts unnecessary stress on the word  _ finally _ , wanting John to experience the harsh blow to the heart and head that Alex had received when John had walked away from three years of happiness. Fighting as well, to be sure; quite a lot of fighting. But still not enough to walk out. 

John flinches, dropping his hand, and Alex feels a vicious satisfaction, clutching the flowers even more tightly in his fist. "I'm kind of waiting for someone," he says tonelessly, waving a vague hand at the ever-moving crowd. 

"Me?" asks a distinctly feminine voice from his other side, and he turns to see Eliza's smiling, open face. After the dizzying emotional whiplash of John’s smile, her face is a relief and a comfort.

"Oh thank god," he breathes, holding out the flowers. He wraps an arm around her shoulders once she takes them, and watches her smile grow even wider as she runs a finger down the petal of a lily. "I wanted to get a flower that matches your eyes," he mumbles, realizing that he'll start babbling if he doesn't control himself, "but there aren't many brown flowers that are actually pretty and sold in stores, so—"

"Alexander," she says softly, effectively shutting him up. "I love them." 

They grin at each other, and then Eliza seems to realize John is still there. She gives him a warm smile.

John smiles back, looking a little lost. 

"Eliza, this is one of my friends from college," Alex grudgingly says, fingers tightening on her shoulders, and ignoring the flicker of pain that goes over John's face when Alex doesn't even give him the courtesy of calling him an ex. "I have no idea what he's doing here," he adds meaningfully, giving John a look only one notch down from a glare. 

John offers a hand to Eliza, and she shakes it, still maintaining her warm smile. "I'm moving back to Washington for work," he tells her, resolutely not meeting Alex's gaze. 

Eliza tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear and glances up at Alex, taking in the clench of his jaw and the angry fire in his eyes. "Not very good friends," she eventually says with a hint of finality, and John flinches again. 

"We parted on uncertain terms," John mumbles, and a helpless laugh bursts from Alex, because that doesn't even  _ begin _ to cover it. Alex can comfortably say that he'd hated John with the force of a dying star. He knows that at least three quarters of it had been heartbreak, but seeing John again, it’s difficult to forget that feeling.

John and Eliza are looking at him, so he looks away, pressing a hand over his mouth. 

John manages to muster up another smile, and walks away, brushing his hair away from his eyes with both hands. It’s a gesture that means that he's agitated. Alex knows that gesture, and loved it for three years. Before John walked away. His resolve hardens again, barricading out any traces of guilt. John doesn't deserve it. 

"I'm going to guess that was an ex, not a  _ friend _ ," Eliza says dryly, watching John's retreating back. "Am I wrong, Alexander?" 

"No," Alex admits, because what's the point in keeping it from her? 

"I'm sorry you had to run into him again," she whispers, taking his hand and squeezing it. The _ 'especially on the day that we've been anticipating for months'  _ goes unsaid, but is easy enough to pick up. 

"It's okay," he whispers back, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Let's just enjoy each other's company. You're finally home," he adds, giving her a real smile, and she beams. 

"I'm finally home." 

—

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for Alex to run into John again, now that he's back in the state and all, but this time, Eliza is not there to act as a barrier between them. It happens while he's shopping for groceries, of all things. 

He's reaching for a cluster of bananas, just as another hand reaches for the same one. A  _ familiar _ hand, with brown slender fingers and a dusting of freckles. He sighs internally. 

"Oh," John mumbles, quickly withdrawing his hand and grabbing another bunch. His face has flushed an adorable light shade of pink, and he's wearing the same tank top as before. Alex distantly wonders if John even has any other clothes. "Sorry, my bad. That's yours."

He hurries away before Alex can even get a word in. 

—

At the next unfortunate meeting, Lafayette is with him.  _ It could have been anyone but Lafayette, _ Alex reflects sadly as the large man engulfs John in a hug,  _ anyone else would have just said hello and left.  _

Lafayette is still animatedly talking to John with his arm draped around his shoulders, and Alex can't help but think that John looks a little overwhelmed. 

"Don't suffocate the man, Laf," he finally interjects, deciding he might as well have the good grace to rescue John once. Besides, they're sort of blocking the street already. People are giving them aggravated looks as they pass by, and one of them even shoulders him hard across the back as he passes. What an asshole. He has half a mind to run after him and—

A hand drops onto his shoulder, and Lafayette tugs him to his side. "I don't know if you were listening,  _ Monsieur Hamilton _ , but I have invited John to stay with us tonight. In the interest of catching up with old college friends." 

This, if nothing else, catches Alex's attention. " _ What? _ " He straightens and looks around wildly, spotting John at Laf's other side. The fight drains from him when Lafayette's grip tightens. " _ Why? _ " He settles for asking petulantly. 

"I just told you," Lafayette says, slightly amused. 

_ Right. In the interest of catching up with old college friends. Bullshit.  _

John's still wearing the tank top, which has since acquired a rip down one side, and well, at some point even his ex that hates him has to get worried. Now that Alex is looking closer, he notices that his cheekbones are slightly more pronounced than usual, and there's a smear of dirt down one cheek. His eyes have a distinctly hollow look to them. 

"What?" John asks bitingly, and Alex looks away. 

Back at their apartment, Lafayette makes green tea, and John curls up against an armrest, blowing away the spirals of steam and taking small sips. It's so achingly familiar to the times back in their small dorm that Alex has to look away, swallowing the lump in his throat: Alex making coffee and John tucking his knees up to his chest and telling him fondly that no one could make coffee like him, and leaning over to kiss him with the taste of coffee still on his lips—

John doesn't notice, or pretends not to. 

"So, John, when did you move back to Washington?" Lafayette asks, sitting down between John and Alex with his own cup. 

"Couple months ago," John says quietly, as if ashamed of admitting it. 

"Why? Finally decided to distance yourself from your old man?" Lafayette gives him a sly grin, but John flinches so hard that scorching tea spills out over his hand. He drops the mug on instinct, and Alex lurches to his feet, ready to check if he's all right, before remembering that it isn't his responsibility anymore. He pivots instead to run behind the counter for a rag to mop up the tea. 

Back at the couch, John is profusely apologizing to Laf, while Laf is insisting that it doesn't matter, turning his hands around to check for serious burns. 

"I'm—I'm so sorry," John gasps, pulling one hand free to pick up the mug to check for cracks. 

Alex mutely fills a second rag with ice and carries it to John, who gives him such an openly thankful look that he has trouble looking at it for more than a few seconds. 

The next few minutes are carried out in silence, with Alex cleaning the spilled tea, and Lafayette holding the ice pack to John's hands. 

"I'm...sorry," John says again. 

"It's okay," Laf repeats firmly. 

Alex leans back on his heels, wondering why the mention of John's father had brought on such a reaction. The same question is apparently also in Lafayette's mind, because he asks, “What was…is everything okay?”

John's eyes have the look of a cornered wild animal, and Alex watches them flicker around the apartment as if searching for an escape route, before he's slumping back against the cushions and burying his face in his hands. The ice pack drops into his lap, forgotten. 

"He disowned me," he whispers into his fingers, in a voice that is ragged and broken. "I told him I was gay and he kicked me out. I had nothing but the money that I had in my wallet and the clothes I was wearing." 

His hands drop, allowing them to see the raw emotion in his eyes, the terrifying cloudiness, fear, and thinly veiled pain and panic. He blinks, and all of it is replaced with a blankness that has to be practiced. He swallows, and continues, 

"I used up most of the money on a ticket here. It's where I went to college, and I figured I could find work or something. I'm working at this, this small bakery as a cashier, but it's not enough for an apartment. I'm kind of homeless right now." 

He manages to keep the blank mask on until this point, but the looks on their faces must trigger something in him. His face crumples. 

Lafayette makes a small pained noise and pulls him to his chest, and they stay like that, John's shoulders shaking and Laf brushing his hair back with one hand in a comforting gesture. Alex sits on the floor with his damp rag, feeling utterly useless. 

"First things first," Laf says softly once John has calmed down enough to notice the things around him again, "you're staying here until you get your own place. Or, you could just stay here indefinitely; we have the room. You don't have to chip in on rent until you can."

John nods weakly into Laf's chest. 

"Any qualms, Alexander?" Lafayette asks, and Alex shakes his head, because he isn't shitty enough to kick someone onto the street if they have nowhere else to go. He wants to talk to Eliza. 

"He can have my bed tonight," he calls over his shoulder as he walks to the bathroom, "I don't mind the couch."

Once the bathroom door is locked, however, everything turns to ice. His breathing becomes ragged and harsh, and when he looks in the mirror, his eyes are wild and frantic. John Laurens. His ex. Staying in his apartment for the foreseeable future. It's like a fantasy and a nightmare at the same time. 

He dials Eliza, and tries to hold his breath until she picks up.  

_ "Alexander? Is everything okay? You never call."  _

"I'm—I'm—" The sentence breaks as he desperately inhales, trying to fill his lungs. His heart is pounding, and his hands tremble against the edge of the sink. 

_ "Oh,"  _ Eliza whispers, her voice soft with the realization,  _ "All right. Inhale for five seconds. Can you hear me, Alexander? Hold it for three, and exhale for seven. Here we go _ —"

She guides him through the process until his breathing returns to normal, a good ten minutes later. Eliza seems to be content with letting him speak on his own time, because all he can hear from her end is soft breathing. 

"My ex, the guy you met at the airport..." he begins, fumbling for words. 

_ "Yeah?" _

"He's here, he's staying with me and Laf.  _ Eliza,  _ he's been _ homeless  _ for _ two months.  _ I feel like—I feel like such an  _ asshole _ , I—"

She lets him ramble, and listens patiently as he pours out all his frustration and guilt, never interrupting until he's finished. He can almost see her comforting smile.  _ "Alexander, you couldn't have known. He's safe right now, isn't he?" _

"Well, yes—"

_ "Then just make sure he's fed and warm. That's all you can do for now. I'll drop by tomorrow to check if you're okay, deal?"  _

He inhales sharply, closing his eyes and nodding before remembering that she can't see him. "Okay." 

_ "Okay,"  _ she murmurs.  _ “Call me if anything bad happens."  _ There's a click as the line disconnects.

Alex waits until he doesn't feel like vomiting anymore before leaving the bathroom. Lafayette and John are still on the couch, talking in low voices. The corner of John's mouth twitches up at something Lafayette says, and Alex quickly turns back around and heads into his room. 

He isn't ready for this right now. 

—

It's dark by the time he remembers that he'd offered his bed to John. Poking his head out of his room, he spots John on the couch on top of a mountain of blankets, and Laf is nowhere to be seen. Probably went to bed already. 

He's holding another cup of tea, and his gaze is fixed on the window. There isn’t much to see outside, just the top of the building across from them and the dark sky beyond. He takes a shaky sip of the tea, and his free hand clenches into a fist over his knee. Alex would pay good money to know what he's thinking.

John looks up and sees him in the doorway. "Hey." 

His voice is scratchy and his eyes are bleary, but neither of those  _ begins _ to overshadow the state of his hair. It must have been taken from his ponytail for the first time in a while, because it's  _ everywhere _ . It's barely curls anymore, it's just frizz, and Alex can't help the small grin that emerges on his face. John gives him a questioning look, and Alex gestures. 

John's hand flies to his hair, and the sheepish smile that Alex knows so well graces his features again. "I know, it's awful, isn't it?" 

"It suits you," Alex smirks, walking to the counter to pour himself a glass of water. 

"Sure it does," John sighs, leaning back. The glazed look is gone from his eyes, to Alex's relief. 

For the first time, he notices that John's fingernails are painted, a chipped and faded black. He's picking at it now, small black flakes falling down onto his jeans. He catches Alex looking and smiles, though it appears forced. 

"This little girl," he begins, looking down at his nails and smiling fondly, as if he can conjure up the memory of her just by looking at it, "she was lost, and had apparently never been taught stranger danger, because she sat down next to me on the street corner and began chatting with me." He laughs hollowly, and absently begins picking at the nail polish again. 

"And I couldn't just sit and let her do all the talking, so I complimented her on her nail polish. And she brightened, like her face practically began to glow, and asked me if she should do mine. And she produced this tiny black bottle from her tiny pink bag and told me solemnly, 'I stole this from my big sister. It matches your shirt.' " 

John breaks off and glances back up at Alex. "She was so sweet, and she stayed with me until her parents found her." His gaze shifts to stare back out the window, eyes faraway. "She was one of the only people that talked to me while I was on the street."

And just like that, another fist of guilt punches Alex right in the stomach. He'd met John, twice, and while he'd had no obligation to talk to him, he could have. He  _ should _ have.  

"Hey, John?" he begins, trying to find the right words. John looks at him expectantly, and Alex can feel his face heat up. He's usually good with words.  _ I'm a lawyer, for Christ's sake.  _ "I'm sorry," he finally finishes, lamely. 

John's eyebrows rise. "None of this is your fault." 

"Why didn't you tell me at the airport?"

John's shoulders lift in a gesture that looks distinctly self-deprecatory. "You didn't look like you wanted anything to do with me." 

For some reason, this stings, even though it's true. "How low is your opinion of me?" Alex mumbles, casting his eyes downward and fiddling with the edge of the counter, trying not to sound hurt. "I may have hated you, but I did love you once. I'd have kept you off the  _ street _ ." 

John just stares at him. After a few seconds, he pushes his hair out of his eyes with both hands, looking gaunt and exhausted, and stretches out on his back over the pile of blankets. "That's my fault then. Not yours. Don't blame yourself when everything—everything about this is my fault." 

"Pretty sure it's your dad's fault for being a homophobic piece of garbage," Alex says doubtfully as he leans forward onto his elbows, and John huffs out a humorless laugh. 

"Him, too. God, I hate him."

The next few minutes are spent in silence, and Alex spends just a moment too long tracing the outline of John's body with his eyes, the way the tank top is pulled tight over his chest, the way his hair fans out on the blankets around him. How his face looks when his eyes are closed, eyebrows still furrowed with worry. The small sliver of brown skin at his stomach where his tank top rides up—

"For the record," John says, startling Alex so much that his chin almost connects hard with the countertop, "I'm sorry for what I did to you. Back then." His eyes are still closed. 

"You mean  _ leaving _ ?" Alex asks, just to be difficult. 

"Yeah." It's barely a whisper. "That." 

Alex hadn't been expecting that.  _ He _ knew that an apology had been in order, but he hadn't thought that  _ John _ knew. He ponders his words for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. He doesn't know if he forgives John yet, but the long-held grudge that he'd been carrying inside himself had been worn down with the years, and John's presence, believe it or not. Talking with him just now, it's not difficult to remember just how  _ easy _ it had been to fall in love back then. 

It had been so easy that it had terrified him, and it still does. 

John opens one eye to gauge his reaction, and he doesn't seem to like what he sees on Alex's face. His mouth twists, and his eye closes again. "I'm not looking for an answer, Alex," he says softly. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know that I really regret it." 

Alex breathes out an involuntary sigh of relief. 

—

John moves in, and it gets easier. He works for most of the day, but because of some unseen force that has made tormenting Alex its goal in this universe, his current work hours align almost exactly with John's, which means that John is already awake and drinking coffee when Alex comes out of the shower in the morning, and staggers through the doorway an hour after Alex arrives at night. 

"I work at a coffee shop too now that I don't have to spend a few hours searching for a place to sleep," John tells Alex when he asks why exactly he has just as many work hours as an esteemed lawyer does.

They adopt a sort of routine, where Alex has tea ready for John and Laf when they come home, and John makes coffee before he leaves for work in the morning.

He also does most of the chores around the apartment if he can, and Alex knows it's because he feels guilty about not paying rent. John has always been careful about not accepting money from people if he doesn't plan to give it back, and this must be going against all his convictions. 

He frequently comes home to John sprawled on the couch with Lafayette's laptop, scrolling through potential job offers. Sometimes he asks Alex for his opinion on one, and Alex ends up collapsing next to him and telling John what he thinks about certain jobs while he tries not to let his eyes drift shut. Sometimes he doesn’t succeed, and Alex wakes up in the morning with a pillow behind his head and a blanket draped over him.

What had been the work room is now John's room. John had spent a week on the couch while Alex and Laf moved their things into their respective rooms with no complaint, and had turned down their offers to sleep in their rooms. It seemed he was going out of his way not to be a nuisance.  

On a particularly lazy Saturday that all three of them have off, Lafayette gets tired of them bemoaning the boredom of the afternoon, and kicks them both out of the apartment with a list of groceries and a tirade in French that Alex understands and John should be grateful that he doesn’t.

He doesn't even give them money for a cab, which means walking the thirty block distance to the nearest grocery store, because neither of them are sure about whether they'll have enough money on themselves, and Lafayette is very clearly not in a mood to be disturbed again.

They've walked a quiet ten blocks, when, 

"HERCULES!" John yells, and darts into the alley they'd just been passing by, nearly upending a trashcan. 

Alex stares in shock for a full minute, but when he peers into the alley, John is crouching next to a dark-skinned man sitting on a pile of rags and  _ dressed _ in what looks like a pile of rags. 

The man—Hercules?—lets out a throaty chuckle and shakes John's hand before pulling him into a one-armed hug. 

Bemused, Alex steps closer just in time to hear him say, "—glad you got yourself off the street, man, if your clothes are anything to judge by." 

"Yeah, yeah, got taken in by old college friends," John laughs. His eyes are brighter than they've been all week. "What about you, how've you been doing? Getting cold at night now, isn't it?" 

"I'm staying at the shelter overnight; you know the one on Third—” Hercules gestures, face split in a large grin. Alex would bet good money that he hasn't spoken to anyone at length for a while; his voice is low and rough.

John's nose crinkles at the mention of the shelter, as if it's associated with a bad memory. His gaze shifts to Alex, and he brightens. 

"Herc, this is Alex. One of the guys that took me in." He straightens and grabs Alex by the shoulder, pulling him to his side. 

Hercules looks Alex up and down, most likely taking in his expensive clothes, but Alex is certain that he'll find absolutely nothing else to indicate that he's fairly financially stable. Alex usually cuts a fairly bedraggled figure with the circles under his eyes and his stringy, tousled hair. He's never cared much what other people thought of his exhausted, unkempt appearance, but under the scrutiny of this man, he shifts uneasily. 

"Uh, Alexander Hamilton," he says quickly, holding out a hand for him to shake. 

"Hercules Mulligan," the man intones, giving him an incline of the head. He turns back to John. "Isn't that the ex that left you at the airport?" 

Alex turns to John in surprise, giving him a look that very clearly conveys,  _ you talked about me? _ but John refuses to meet his eye. 

"Yeah, him. He's not so bad."

Hercules stares at Alex again, with an expression that says he’s trying to figure out what exactly John could have possibly ever seen in him. 

"So do you need anything right now, Herc?" John asks, quickly enough that it's obvious he's trying to change the subject. "Food, money...? We're heading to the grocery store right now, actually." 

Hercules grins again. "I'm good, Laurens. You just see that you look after yourself."

"He could come stay with us." Alex isn't quite sure what makes him blurt out the words. Maybe it's the fact that John seems to be such good friends with this man. Maybe it's his bedraggled appearance. Maybe it's the way his eyes had gone fleetingly desperate when John had mentioned leaving. As it is, they're both gaping at him. 

"What?" Hercules mouths. 

"What?" John asks.  

Anyway, there are obviously no takebacks. "Um, yeah. I can—I can phone Laf to see what he says. Just a sec."

He backs away from their shocked expressions and out of the alley, fumbling for his phone and dialing Lafayette's number. He answers at the fourth ring. 

"Alexander, I have told you three times. The butter is next to the yogurt. How often do I—" 

"It's not about that," Alex says hurriedly, because  _ God _ he hates Lafayette's habit of bringing up past mistakes. "I've made a promise that I need to consult you about."

There's a silence. "Go on," Lafayette finally says warily.  

"John and I met one of his friends while he was on the street, and I offered to let him come stay with us." 

Lafayette doesn't speak for a long time. Alex thinks he might be trying to summon the will to live. Finally, he takes a deep breath. "I know your heart was in the right place, Hamilton, but I—where would he stay? The kitchen? There are only three rooms! We're already supporting one person that doesn't pay rent! I'm listening to options here.  _ What is your foolproof plan, Alexander? _ " 

"He can take my room, I'll take the couch," Alex says immediately. "Laf, you know that I could pay the rent for the apartment alone with my salary if you let me."

"I— _ Mon Dieu _ ," Lafayette sighs, and Alex thinks he might be rubbing his eyes. " _ D'accord _ , bring him here. I cannot very well say no if you’ve already told him." 

"All right," Alex mumbles, and hangs up. When he walks back into the alley, John and Hercules are still gaping at him, as if they're not sure if he's either an angel or just someone really mentally unstable. "Laf says yes," he tells their stunned faces. 

"I can't accept your offer," Hercules bursts out, looking like he's about to start crying. "I can't, it's too—" 

John claps a hand onto his shoulder and heaves him to his feet by his arm. He wraps his free hand around Alex's shoulder, and drags him into a tight embrace. "See?" He beams at Hercules. "Not so bad." 

Hercules is still speechless. 

The three of them head to the nearest clothing store, which is only a couple of blocks from their original destination, to buy Hercules a new set of clothes. He hasn't found his voice yet by the time they leave. 

"Hercules works at the same bakery I do," John tells Alex as they head to the grocery store, "and we tried to help each other out. He's another of the cashiers."

"I thought you just ran into each other on the street now and again," Alex muses. 

"Well, that too. There's only one hour where our work hours overlap. We can't talk much at work." He turns and begins to try and coax words out of Hercules, and Alex is content to stay silent and listen for once.

—

And, just like that, the man named Hercules Mulligan becomes another figure in their daily lives. To Alex and John's surprise and relief, he gets along best with Lafayette. They have the same crude taste in jokes and love for swearing, and Hercules pretends that he has the same fondness for green tea as Laf. 

Alex sleeps on the couch, as promised. He doesn't mind that much, other than it's inconvenient and uncomfortable, and sometimes the temperature drops during the night, and he has to go beg an extra blanket off Laf.

The year is entering its winter months, and Alex misses his bed more than ever. The thermostat chooses the worst ever month to break: December. The nights get teeth-chatteringly cold, even in the small cramped bedrooms, where the limited space holds more heat.

In the large room that contains the kitchen and sitting room on one of the coldest nights so far, Alex wonders bleakly if he would rather freeze to death with his pride or wake Laf to see if he'd let him sleep with him in his bed. 

It's getting close to 2am when he hears a creak and a muffled, " _ Holy fuck! _ " from the direction of the bedrooms, and he twists to see John standing just outside his doorway, dressed in a baggy shirt and sweatpants, arms wrapped around himself and shivering. 

"What's going on?" He croaks, as loudly as he can manage at this ungodly hour. 

John's wide eyes meet his. "Alex? How are you still  _ alive _ ?"

"Strength of will and spite," Alex mumbles sleepily, letting his head drop back onto his pillow. "Also I would have gone to Eliza's already if I thought my legs could move and if I didn't think her big sister hates me."

John pads over to the counter to fill himself a cup of water, giving him a worried look. "Well shit, dude, you're welcome to sleep in my room if you don't think it's weird." 

"Oh my god, really?" Alex lifts his head again hopefully. When John doesn't dismiss it as a joke, he adds, "You're a  _ saint _ ."

"So they tell me," John grins, putting the cup in the sink and beginning to walk back to his room, "but you have to bring all your blankets. It's not this cold but it's still cold as fuck."

Alex nods and scoops up the five blankets that he'd acquired since it had started to get cold, and takes the pillow too as an afterthought.  _ It's only weird if you make it weird, _ he thinks as he tosses them onto John's bed and wriggles under the covers. 

John's watching him with an unreadable expression, but Alex can guess that he's most likely thinking of all the other times they'd done this, back when…

He cuts off the train of thought and averts his gaze, but he can't go to sleep without teasing John at least a little. It would be a wasted opportunity. He waits until John's eyes have slipped shut, before pressing his frozen feet up against his stomach.  

John lets out a high-pitched noise and flinches away, so hard that he tumbles off the bed and onto the floor with a loud  _ thump _ . 

" _Fuck_ _you_ , Hamilton," he groans from where he's lying out of Alex's sight, and Alex can't help the cackle that escapes him. "I show you kindness and this is how you repay me." 

He pulls himself back up onto the bed, sporting a disgruntled expression and a spectacular bedhead. His ponytail must have come loose, because his curls are in his eyes and in a halo surrounding his head. 

"I wish I could truthfully say that I'm sorry," Alex tries to get out through his laughter, and John glares. 

In the next second, John is on top of him, pinning his arms back against the bed. John's annoyed expression hovers above him, with all the gorgeous dark curls framing his face. In another second, John seems to realize exactly what he's done, and he freezes, eyes widening, and Alex swears his gaze flickers briefly to his lips. 

Unfortunately, not even the sexual tension can make Alex stop laughing now that he's started, and John starts to look mildly worried. He lets go of Alex's arms and presses a hand over his mouth, giving him his most serious look. 

"Alex, quit it! You'll wake Herc and Laf!" 

Alex snickers behind John's hand, but the laughter eventually dies down, and the full awkwardness of their position crashes down on him. "Um."

John blinks down at him, absolutely no embarrassment in his expression. He brushes a stray curl out of his face and grins, as if he's seeing some unknown humor in this situation. When Alex just stares at him with wide eyes, John sighs, as if something has disappointed him, and rolls off, making sure to kick Alex in the side as he does. 

"That's for making sure I never have feeling in my stomach ever again.  _ Fuck _ , how cold are your feet?" 

"I don't know, you tell me," Alex yawns, deciding to just forget the moment that had just transpired and giving John a wicked grin. John quickly looks away, pulling the blankets up to his chin again. 

"Go to sleep, Alex." 

—

When Alex wakes the next morning, he's surrounded by warmth and the smell of John, which his subconscious mind finds so familiar that he's reaching for John before he's fully awake. His hand lands on nothing, and his eyes open to an empty bed. It's not very surprising, due to John's early shifts, but he can't help the small twinge of disappointment that he feels in his stomach. 

_ Fuck off, _ he tells his feelings, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. 

It's just at that moment that the door opens again, and John walks in, wearing nothing but a towel hanging low over his hips, skin and hair still damp from the shower. 

He reels backwards when he sees Alex, looking mortified. "Oh my god, I didn't think you would be awake." 

"It's, um," Alex manages, dragging his eyes away from the droplets running down John's neck from his hair, "nothing I haven't seen before." He knows John is staring at him, but he refuses to look. 

"You're right, I guess," John mumbles, and Alex hears the noise of a drawer being tugged open as he pulls the covers back over himself and buries his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the ache low in his stomach.

—

When he wakes up again, John isn’t there.  

Alex finds him on the couch with a laptop, lips pursed into a contemplative frown. He looks up when Alex approaches, mustering up a small smile. "Hey. I think I found a job I might be able to take."

"Really?" Alex pads over to the counter, and starts to fill the biggest glass they have with tap water, ignoring the sudden ringing in his ears. He’s not entirely sure whether he’s overjoyed or disappointed; John is a distraction and Alex hasn’t really forgiven him yet. "That's great. What does it pay?"

"About thirty thousand a year, I think. You know that gym I work out at? They're looking for a couple extra personal trainers, and I think I qualify." John pauses and frowns, absently brushing a few straw curls out of his eyes. "Sure, it's not a very prestigious place, but it pays well enough, and it's better than a goddamn bakery and coffee shop.”

“Um," Alex blinks as his sluggish brain tries to comprehend this information. He takes another long drink of the water. "That sounds like a great job for you."

John grins suddenly, looking back down at the laptop. "Yeah, I'm pretty excited actually. This is a huge opportunity. I can move out on 30k a year. It won't be as nice as this place, but it'll be mine." He looks back up at Alex, beaming. There's a light in his eyes that Alex hasn't seen in ages, and it makes something in his chest clench painfully.

The glass of water is suddenly empty, and he doesn't have any more excuses not to look John in the eyes. John's smile falters, just a bit. "You okay?”

"Yeah, just sort of exhausted," Alex groans, rubbing his eyes and belatedly realizing that saying you’re exhausted is a shitty excuse if you just slept for ten hours. "I'm happy for you. Sounds great." He gives John a weary thumbs-up, and John laughs.

"Thanks."

—

The apartment becomes different once John makes the decision to move out. Lafayette is moodier, because apparently he’d become attached in the past few months. John is busier with his new job than he’d been with his other ones; when he’d come home from working at the coffee shop and bakery, he’d spent most of his time talking with them, or helping cook the food, or just generally making sure to not spend any time alone. Now, he heads straight to his room to work things out with the new job, and Alex knows that can’t be healthy, but he’s really not in the position to point this out because he’s guilty of doing the exact same thing, on multiple occasions.

“Hey, Alex, you’re going to let me leave without even saying a word to me?”

Alex turns to find John is leaning against the door to his room, watching him with an unreadable emotion in his dark eyes. He has a backpack slung over his shoulders, his hair pulled up and out of his eyes. Alex takes another sip of his coffee, which, inexplicably, suddenly tastes bitter and stale on his tongue.

“Um, goodbye?” he offers, knowing he’s being incredibly rude, but he’s working and he really can’t afford—

John raises one eyebrow, just a small twitch, but it still manages to convey an unimpressed query. He brushes a curl out of his eyes with his free hand, and leans back against the door. “Walk me to my new apartment?”

_ This is a trap _ , Alex thinks, but his mouth blurts out, “You’re within walking distance?” He wants to kick himself for how hopeful his voice sounds, but if John’s small grin is anything to go by, he just finds it endearing.

“Yeah, I told you when I first found the place, remember? Come on, it’s finally warm out.”

So Alex throws away all his convictions and gives in to the pleading look on John’s face, throwing on a jacket and pulling his hair up into a sloppy ponytail. John was right; it really is warm out, and the sidewalks are damp and slippery with melted snow. They don’t talk for almost the whole walk, and Alex watches a pigeon that’s been hopping along after them for the past block.

“Are we going to stay friends, then?” John asks, peering sidelong at him, and Alex tears his gaze away from the pigeon to glance at him.

“What gives you the idea that we aren’t?” Alex aims his tone for nonchalance, and hits it pretty well, in his opinion. John’s smile tells him that he didn’t.

“You’ve been ignoring me for the past week,” John points out, his smile wavering slightly.

Alex blinks and looks down at his hands, tracing his eyes over the puckered scar that runs diagonally across the back of his left hand, from his thumb to his ring finger. He traces the index finger of his right hand over it, and thinks that there’s no way the memory of such an injury should be fond to him.

“We’re here,” John says, and Alex might be imagining things, but his voice sounds hollow.

It’s not a very glamorous building, probably the least glamorous in the whole neighbourhood actually, but it’s not a run-down dump either. The stairs aren’t rickety, but they do creak, and the walls seem fairly clean. John waves a hand when they get to his door, grinning proudly, and opens the door for Alex.

The inside is tiny but picturesque, with a wooden floor and a small blue couch and even a few picture frames on the white walls. The counter is plain brown, and the table isn’t big enough for more than two people to eat at it. There’s only one other room, and when Alex peers in, he sees a bed and a dresser and beige walls. John tosses his backpack onto the bed and walks back into the other room, collapsing down onto the blue couch and looking around fondly.

Alex grins too. He has work, he has to get back to his own apartment, but John offers him coffee, and he stays.

—

(6:02) _ alex, i realize that u warned me about this but there is a gigantic cockroach here right next to my bed what the fuck do i do _

It’s a testament to how used Alex is to such texts from John that he doesn’t even become irritated when the chime wakes him at six in the morning. He just yawns, rubs the sleep from his eyes, purposely waits ten minutes out of spite, and then types out a reply.

(6:12) You kill it? Honestly what else? Release it into the wild?

(6:13) _ how the hell do you expect me to do that? it’s GIGANTIC _

(6:15) Step on it

(6:15)  _ geez you’re useless. obviously it’s going to murder me before i even get my foot over it _

(6:17) Shoes exist. Test your aim and throw one from across the room at it

(6:18)  _ jesus christ _

(6:23)  _ hah, i did it. the bitch is either dead or dying and i’m not lifting the shoe to check which it is _

(6:25) I’m proud of you

—

Alex breathes out a tense sigh, and tries again. “Ma’am, lawyers cost money. I can’t defend you in court out of the goodness of my heart. Just, please—”

The thin dark-haired woman in front of him shakes her head stubbornly. “No, sir, I refuse to pay you this outrageous amount of money. I’ll just have to find someone else. Good day.”

“Good day,” Alex echoes, and returns to his papers. She isn’t the craziest person he’s run into during all his time as a lawyer, and he’s certainly defended weirder. He’s tired though; he’d barely slept last night, and not even three cups of espresso are keeping his eyes from drifting shut every few seconds. He brushes his hair out of his eyes and willfully persists, trying to scribble something decipherable onto the papers in front of him.

“This what you deal with every day?” A voice asks from the doorway, and Alex glances up to find John idling in the doorway, a small smile tugging up the corners of his lips. He looks gorgeous, as always, in jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt.

“Not  _ every  _ day,” Alex answers, frowning thoughtfully. “It’s a good portion, though.”

“Well, you look like you need company and coffee. Are you free to go to that coffee shop down the block?”

“How romantic,” Alex says teasingly, but he’s already pulling on his jacket. “Is this a date, Mr. Laurens?”

John smiles charmingly at him. “I would call it a lovely lunch break between two busy friends that never see each other these days, but it’s your choice, really, Mr. Hamilton.”

Conversation flows easily between them, and at times like this, Alex can forget how much he’d hated John just five years ago. He can forget the fear that John might leave again in the blink of an eye, just as soon as Alex gets too attached again. He can remember that John is chivalrous, and sweet, and charismatic, and endlessly charming. He can be surprised that John still remembers Alex’s coffee order. He can be happy that John is here again.

“Hey, why don’t I ever see that girl that was with you that day we met at the airport?” John asks suddenly, over the rim of his cup. His eyes are curious. “I’m assuming she’s your girlfriend.”

“Eliza?” Alex frowns, setting down his own cup. He hasn’t seen her in a while either. He feels like he might not have seen any of his friends for a long while, if he didn’t live with Lafayette and Hercules, and John didn’t make a habit of dragging him out of work now and again. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

John frowns too. “No?”

“No, we’re just friends. I call her a lot,” he adds, because he doesn’t want to lie, and the alternative is telling John that he’s been working too hard to meet up with Eliza and her two sisters occasionally. John would be worried, and the comfortable atmosphere would shatter. “I haven’t had a girlfriend since…” Alex suddenly realizes that he doesn’t actually want to reveal to John that he hadn’t dated since John had left him, and instead finishes lamely, “forever.”

“Well, she seems to like you a lot,” John comments, smirking a little, and Alex remembers the way Eliza had addressed John, the way she’d called them out on not seeming like good friends. A curl escapes from John’s ponytail, and Alex resists the urge to brush it behind his ear back into place.

“That’s an interesting concept, y’know, for people that are really good friends,” Alex says placidly, and John grins, brightly and properly apologetic.

—

(3:56)  _ alex _

(3:56)  _ are u awake _

(3:59) Well I am now

(4:02)  _ don’t take this the wrong way, but can u come over? _

(4:03) What

(4:05)  _ see you’re taking it the wrong way. just come over, there’s this thing here _

From past experience, the Thing that John is talking about is some sort of roach or spider, but he’s never actually asked Alex to come to his apartment for things like that. Alex is exhausted, his hair is permanently sleep-rumpled, and he knows that there is a zero percent chance that he looks anywhere near professional at this hour, but he yanks on jeans and a jacket and tries his best to tiptoe through the kitchen without waking anyone.

He trips over the couch in the darkness and topples over it and onto the floor with a ferocious and agonizing crash.

He can hear movement in Lafayette’s room. A few seconds later, he pokes his head out, his hair a messy tangle surrounding his head. “ _ Monsieur Hamilton,  _ would it be all right if I killed you right now?” He asks pleasantly, in a voice scraped rough by sleep.

“Yeah, put me out of my misery,” Alex groans, pushing himself painfully to his knees.

“Where are you even going at four in the morning?” Hercules asks, because apparently Alex has woken him too; he’s just quieter when he gets up. He also looks mildly concerned, an emotion that has no place on Lafayette’s features.

Alex cannot say that he’s going to John’s. He knows that this answer would raise questions that he can’t answer, and implications that he  _ won’t  _ answer. “A walk?” he offers.

“Next time, do it without making as much of a ruckus as  _ a fucking nuclear bomb would _ ,” Lafayette snaps, and slams the door.

“He’s grouchy when he’s tired,” Alex tells Hercules, whose face tells Alex that he sees this as a massive overreaction. Hercules blinks once at him, and disappears back into his room too.

(4:16) I’ll be there in a few minutes. But if you woke me at four in the morning for a spider or something, I will cheerfully decapitate you

(4:18)  _ threat acknowledged. hurry _

He jogs the five blocks to John’s apartment building, praying that John has had the foresight to unlock his door, because Alex refuses to knock and potentially wake even more people tonight than he already has. John’s door is slightly ajar when Alex climbs the rickety stairs to his floor, a sliver of yellow light illuminating the wall. Alex tentatively pushes the door open, trying to dismiss the creepiness of the scene.

John sits on the floor in the middle of his apartment, clutching a box to his chest. He looks like he’s close to falling asleep; he doesn’t even notice when Alex enters the apartment.

“John?” he whispers, and John’s head jerks up, wild eyes meeting Alex’s. He smiles, almost ruefully.

“You came.”

“Of course I came,” Alex says, crouching down in front of him. “You asked me to. What is it?”

John holds the box out to him, his fingers sliding along the sides as Alex takes it, like he’s reluctant to let it go. It’s cold to the touch, like it’s been sitting outside on the damp November wind-chilled street. Alex pushes the cardboard flaps aside, and stares. Inside, are four small creatures, deathly still, and brown as the box itself. Alex prods at one, and it immediately lets out a hungry mewling squawk that makes John flinch.

“Kittens?” He asks, bewildered.

“They’re, like, newborn,” John whispers, barely loud enough for Alex to hear. “I found them in the box just outside the building. None of my neighbors have cats, I checked.”

“You should get them onto a blanket,” Alex mumbles, scooping one up and cradling it to his chest to warm it. It makes the wail again, loud and pleading. “And get some milk. Where’s your heater?”

“In my room.”

“Right,” Alex nods, picking the rest of the kittens up and depositing them into John’s arms. They all begin to shriek, a horrific symphony of starving mewls. John scrunches his face up, shuddering. “I’ll run to the nearest 24 hour supermarket for milk replacement. You get them warm.”

John nods mutely, and Alex runs out of the apartment.

When he comes back from the supermarket, John is curled protectively around the kittens in front of the heater, shielding them from the worst of the heat but keeping them warm all the same. His eyes are closed, and Alex can’t tell if he’s asleep, but he nudges him in the side with his foot anyway.

“Wake up. I’m not doing this alone.”

John’s eyes blearily blink open, and Alex turns away to microwave the milk he’d bought.

“I thought cow milk was bad for cats,” John’s groggy voice says from right behind him, and Alex startles just enough to send milk spilling from the bowl and onto the floor.

Alex makes an aggravated noise, and grunts, “It’s goat milk.” He’s still tired, and though he’s glad John had thought to call him over, he’s not free from the side-effects of sleep deprivation. “Bring me the bottles from the bag.”

The kittens have thawed by now, and Alex can hear their crying from underneath the blanket John had tucked them under. It’s a gut-wrenching noise, made even worse for him, because it sends him plunging into memories of his childhood, of a small tabby stray being impregnated too soon for her young age and dying shortly after giving birth to a litter of three kittens in their kitchen. Alex’s mother had been sympathetic but sensible, and reasoned to her nine-year-old son that the kittens were too small to survive.

She’d been right; they’d died during the night, but not before sending wails of hunger echoing through the corridors of their small house.

“They’re probably going to die,” Alex murmurs to John while he pours the milk into the two tiny bottles. John blinks at him, startled.

“What makes you say that?”

Alex shrugs helplessly. “They’re small, weak, and probably past the saving point.”

John snatches one of the bottles from the counter and glares at him fiercely before stalking back into his room. “Not if I can help it.”

All four of the kittens survive the night, but Alex and John barely do. Alex finds himself thanking the god of every religion he can think of that he doesn’t have work today, before passing out cold on John’s couch. He wakes up to hungry mewling, and decides to have pity on John and just feed them himself. John’s asleep on the floor next to them in the most uncomfortable position imaginable, and Alex can’t envision him falling asleep like that if he isn’t anything other than deathly exhausted.

_ He’s cute,  _ Alex thinks despite his inhibitions, glancing over at John while the small bundle in his palm kneads tiny paws into his skin. John’s face has always looked more peaceful in sleep, and he doesn’t move around much while he sleeps, so Alex feels comfortable enough to tuck the other three kittens against his stomach. He’s using his oversized grey hoodie as a blanket, and Alex’s heart  _ aches. _

He focuses his gaze back down to the kitten in his palm, drooling milk while it suckles. Alex thinks he likes cats. He’s never owned one, but he’s always thought they’re surprisingly elegant for an animal. Not that there’s anything at all elegant about these four squirming little menaces, but they’re starting to grow on him.

—

A few weeks later, Eliza decides that it’s time that they meet up and just  _ talk  _ for a few hours, because  _ god Alexander I haven’t seen you in ages and you’re one of my best friends, is this how best friends treat each other?  _

Alex agrees, and she brings her two sisters, Angelica and Peggy, to their apartment that night. Angelica has a wit and tongue sharp as a knife. Peggy appears mellow and harmless, but Alex knows she and her sisters were once attacked by muggers. Eliza refuses to tell him how they got out of it, but she did tell him that it was mostly due to Peggy. He regards the woman with a sort of awed respect after that particular story. 

Eliza is like a mixture of the two, which is probably why Alex took such a liking to her.

Hercules opens the door when they knock, ushering the three girls into an apartment that had only recently been hastily cleaned. Angelica raises a pointed eyebrow, and surveys everything with a disdain that tells them that she  _ knows _ the dirty clothes have just been shoved under the couch.

She doesn’t look like she approves much of the four kittens scrambling around the apartment either. Alex had called John over, and John had agreed on the condition that the kittens join him. They’re six weeks old and  _ energetic,  _ tussling and climbing onto couches and attacking people’s toes. Lafayette doesn’t appreciate this, because it can sting when barefoot, but Hercules accepts the pain with surprising grace.

John had named them Cocoa, Coffee, Mocha, and Cappuccino, after Alex’s eternal love for caffeinated drinks.

"Ah," Eliza says when she catches sight of John. "You. We've met."

"And I never told you my name," John says smoothly, holding out the hand for her to shake that isn’t trying to keep Cappuccino from leaping to the floor, "John Laurens." 

"Elizabeth Schuyler," Eliza says with a smile that has venom around the edges. "Call me Eliza. You're Alexander's ex."

John turns and gives Alex a look that basically says, r _ eally? You judged me for talking to you about Hercules and then you talk too? _

Alex shrugs. 

"Well!" Peggy says loudly, placing a warning hand on Eliza's arm. "I think we should all sit down. Is that something that can be done?" 

"I suppose, if a couple of people sit on each other's laps," Laf says, critically eyeing the only couch and chair their apartment has. 

"Pass," Angelica says scathingly, and perches herself on the counter. Peggy joins her. Alex isn't sure why Angelica is even here; all she does is make biting comments and glare viciously at him. Maybe she thinks she's protecting her baby sister from him. 

Eliza sits down next to him, so that one side of his body is pressed against the armrest, and the other is against her side. "You know," she whispers once the others have started their own conversations, "Angelica doesn't hate you."

"Are you kidding me, of course she does," Alex whispers back. Eliza is close enough that strands of her dark hair are brushing his cheek. He can feel her breath against his ear. 

"No, she's actually quite fond of you. She thinks you have intelligent eyes. No, don't look, she'll know we're talking about her." 

Alex pauses, mouthing the two words skeptically before repeating them back to her, "Intelligent eyes?" 

"She thinks your wit is  _ almost _ comparable to hers." 

"A genuine compliment," Alex says dryly, "I'm flattered." 

Eliza giggles, hiding her grin behind a hand. Alex swallows. Eliza is soft and warm against him, and Alex knows that if he'd been given time, he might have someday fallen in love with her. He'd been close, but then...

His gaze shifts slightly to the side, and there's John, hair free from its ponytail and spilling over his shoulders, eyes crinkled with laughter at something Hercules had said. He raises a hand to absentmindedly brush a curl behind his ear, and Cappuccino scrambles onto his shoulder to bat it free again. 

Alex knows he can't fall in love with anyone else, not while John is here. 

Eliza pats him gently on the arm, and he refocuses on her, slightly guilty. She gives him a hesitant smile. "Is there something you haven't told me, Alexander?" 

Alex exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Privately."

Eliza nods and tugs him to his feet. "Alexander and I are going to find some...beer." 

They're met with raised eyebrows all round. "Beer," Angelica repeats skeptically. 

"Beer," Eliza says firmly, and drags him out the apartment door. The last thing he sees before the door closes is John watching them with a troubled look in his eyes. 

They leave the building and start heading to the nearest place that sells liqueur, hands shoved deep into the pockets of their jackets.  

"I'm not over him," Alex mumbles, barely loud enough to hear over the howling wind. His face is numb and he can't look at Eliza, because he knows there will be disappointment there. 

"Well..." Eliza says slowly, scuffing the toe of one of her boots into the ground. Alex watches the white-streaked sidewalk, like it might start spelling out the answers to get out of this awkward conversation. "We were never together, Alexander. I suppose I might have hoped that we'd be someday, but," she breaks off to inhale, and Alex desperately hopes that she isn't crying, "you were never mine to lose, so I can't—" 

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest and clutching her tightly. She hugs him back, face buried in his jacket. He can feel her shoulders shaking. "Eliza, I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this and I—" 

"No," she says, pulling back and wiping at her eyes, "no, don't apologize. Not for liking someone. Especially someone like John." She gives him a watery smile. "He seems like someone easy to fall in love with."

"He is," Alex whispers, and they begin walking again, but this time, Eliza is a little further away than she'd been before. Alex knows that it's his fault, and he pushes down the tiny kernel of hurt and guilt that forms, and raises his face to the dark sky. 

—

When they arrive back at the apartment, everyone seems surprised that they came back at all. Alex gives them all an aggravated look, but he thinks Eliza's venomous glare is what really dispels the suggestive grins. They sit back down, still pressed together, but Eliza's mood is somber. 

Unsure of what else to do, Alex reaches over with his free hand to brush his knuckles gently down her cheek. She softens visibly, but her expression doesn't change.  _ I'm so sorry, _ he mouths, and she gives him a small smile before leaning her head on his shoulder. 

The weight of her head is familiar and comforting, but the weight of John's gaze on them is not. Angelica's not being as obvious as John, but she's watching them too, mouth pursed into something thoughtful and annoyed. 

Fighting down an irrational urge to ask her what her problem is, Alex reaches for a can of beer and sips it quietly, secretly wishing it was socially acceptable to fall asleep right here, while he's surrounded by warmth and the laughter of the others. 

Peggy has started to lean towards Hercules, just slightly, lips twisted into a wry and interested smile. There's a can of beer cupped in her hands, her nails clinking against the aluminium. She looks more than slightly tipsy. Angelica has one hand on her shoulder, presumably to keep her from doing something stupid or falling forward onto her face. 

Lafayette has backed out of the conversation altogether, and is curled up against his armrest with his phone, probably texting the French girlfriend he swears he has. Mocha, the most docile one of the litter, is asleep on his lap.

It's late, and Alex has work tomorrow. He wants desperately to excuse himself and disappear to go to sleep.

As if by some freaky linking of their mind, John looks over at Alex just as he yawns and rubs one eye. "Didn't you say you have work tomorrow?"

"I did say that, yes," Alex says sleepily. 

"You should get some sleep then, Alexander," Angelica says, and it sounds snide to Alex’s ears, the tone she uses and the way she calls him  _ Alexander,  _ something only Eliza does.

"Thanks for your concern, Angelica," Alex says with faux gratefulness, prodding Eliza into awareness and propping her against John's shoulder. She barely seems to notice the change, as sleepy as she is. "Night, all." 

—

Alex wakes up when John enters the room, despite his best efforts to be quiet. He’d offered his bed to John earlier, and completely forgotten about it. He keeps his eyes closed though, as he hears the quiet rustling of John shedding clothes, and finally the lurch of movement on the other side of the bed as he climbs on. He must have brought the kittens too, because something small claws its way up onto Alex’s chest and curls up there.

John croons to the kittens, soft enough that it wouldn’t wake Alex if he was actually asleep. It’s something of a lullaby, something soothing and sweet, and Alex waits until John’s voice trails off and his breathing evens out before flipping onto his side to face him. John's face smooths out in sleep, and Alex always loved running his fingers over the creases next to his eyes, where the crinkles he gets from smiling usually are. He has to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching out now. 

He falls asleep again soon after, wondering to himself why exactly the universe hates him enough to make him fall in love again with the same person that broke his heart. 

—

(11:52)  **Alexander**

It’s Angelica. She’s the only one besides Eliza that insists on calling him that.

(11:52)  **Come to the coffee shop on 23** **rd** **. We’re going to talk about how you much you fucked up by dumping my sister.**

Alex isn’t sure how to respond to that, but knows that he can’t refuse if he values his life. So he tosses on a coat, tells Laf where he’s going so that he knows where to search for Alex’s body, and heads to the coffee shop that Angelica had ordered him to.

It’s small and smells overwhelmingly like vanilla and coffee beans, and a cheerful, tinny jingle plays when Alex pushes the door open. The inside is even smaller than it appears outside, with only about five tables and booths, and three customers. Angelica is one of them, sitting in a corner with her legs primly crossed. To most unassuming people, she might look exquisite and demure, but Alex knows that assumption is usually tossed into the void once she opens her mouth. She looks up from her phone when the jingle plays, and waves him over.

“Order yourself a coffee, and we’ll talk,” she says with a friendly smile that holds none of the dangers that her earlier text had.

He does, a medium black, no cream, one sugar, and tentatively sits himself down on the edge of his seat across the table from her. She’s sipping some kind of foamy pink smoothie from a straw, her hair pinned back by numerous pins to keep it from falling into her eyes. She’s beautiful, like the other two Schuyler sisters. Angelica and Eliza have a booming presence that immediately draws everyone to them. Peggy gets easily ignored when in their company, because her true colors are concealed by a placid nature, and only show when someone does one of her sisters wrong. Honestly, he’s surprised it isn’t Peggy that’s been sent to interrogate him.

The straw emits a dry noise that signifies that she’s reached the bottom of the cup, and Angelica finally looks up at him. “Hello, Alexander. Glad you could make it.”

“Are you?” He asks, wrapping his hands around the cup to warm them.

“Well, I’m not overjoyed to see you, but Peggy and I want an explanation. Eliza refuses to tell us why she was sobbing into her pillow last night, so we assumed that you either know something, or it’s your fault.”

Alex winces away from the words, clenching the cup between his hands so tightly that the heat begins to sting his hands. Eliza had cried? Angelica’s watching him closely, critically, assessing his reaction to her words carefully.

“Good,” she says when he just glares down at his cup and refuses to speak, “We weren’t wrong.”

“Eliza and I weren’t together,” he mumbles, finally taking a shaky sip of the coffee. It’s bland and watery; barely even a taste there at all. He wonders if Angelica picked this place specifically because of the shitty coffee. “We weren’t dating. I didn’t break up with her.”

Angelica raises a single, judgemental eyebrow.

“Alex, you may not have had the official boyfriend/girlfriend label yet, but you insisted on picking her up from the airport, even though you hate airports, when any one of us could have. You bought her flowers. You looked like you were ready to burst into tears on the day she left, and—”

“I like someone else!” Alex bursts out, effectively causing her train of words to come to a crashing halt. She gapes at him, not a look that Angelica often lets onto her features. He wishes he could find the energy inside himself to enjoy it.

Angelica grips the edge of the table tightly enough that her knuckles turn white, reaches for her cup again, and drops it when she realizes it’s empty. She seems to be at a loss for words, and Alex takes a large gulp of his coffee, because that way he’ll probably choke and die and won’t have to explain himself.

He doesn’t die, sadly.

“Right,” Angelica says in a quiet voice. She’s still clutching the edge of the table. “Who is it? Because I swear to fucking god, Alex, if it’s Maria, I’m going to break this cup and attack you with one of the plastic shards. You are not breaking my sister’s heart for that woman.”

“No, no, nope, not Maria,” Alex says quickly, resenting the reminder of his college failures. The stunningly beautiful woman had seduced him, and then her boyfriend had threatened to expose the fact that apparently Alex was in the habit of fucking other people’s women unless Alex helped him pay his student loans. This had been less than a year after John had left him. Alex might have been smart enough to avoid Maria if he hadn’t been a total wreck during that year, and he’d ended up helping James Reynolds, and the story had come out anyway.

Angelica relaxes marginally, and she manages a weak smile. “Sorry for threatening you. So who is this lucky girl that is apparently better than my sister?”

Alex gives her a weak smile back. No time to come out than the present. He’d thought Angelica knew, but apparently not. “Angelica, I’m bisexual. It’s a guy.”

The next silence lasts longer than a minute. Alex has never been able to drive Angelica speechless before, and now he’s done in twice in one hour. Somehow, he can’t find it in himself to be thrilled about it. She reaches for her cup, realizes it’s empty again, and storms to the counter to order another while Alex takes large gulps of his shitty coffee.

She comes back with another foamy pink smoothie, sits down primly, smooths the crinkles out of her dress, and takes a long draught of her drink. “That’s great news, Alexander,” she says eventually.

It’s Alex’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“No, no, it really is. I’m just sort of annoyed that I didn’t figure it out for myself.”

He squints at her. “Remember the John that I kept cursing at for the first couple of years we knew each other? What did you think he was, an ex-best friend?”

She shrugs. “I was clueless about such things in college. All I did was focus on my grades.” She pulls out her phone, texts something quickly, and glances back up at Alex. “Just to clarify, Eliza knows who the mystery guy is, right? And that it’s a guy?”

Alex sighs and leans back in his chair. Angelica had  _ met _ John. She’s really off her game today. “Yeah, she knows who it is.”

“Will she tell me?”

“Maybe?” Alex just wants to get out of this tiny coffee shop that smells like someone tried to set off a vanilla bomb. He wants to go home, or maybe go to John’s to check on the kittens, and drink coffee that doesn’t taste like someone pissed in it.

“Are  _ you _ going to tell me?”

“Sure.” Alex smiles at the startled look she gives him. “That guy that I invited yesterday, with the kittens? Curly brown hair, pretty eyes, black tank top. His name is John.”

Angelica freezes, expression morphing into something completely different, something pitying. “That’s your ex? Alex, you were a wreck because of the guy! And now you’re trying to tell me you’re into him again?” She leans forward, placing a gentle hand on Alex’s arm. “Honey. Please. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t give me the ‘he’s changed’ bullshit. Tell me why you’re into him.”

It’s the first time she’s called him anything remotely similar to a pet name, and in his shock, Alex forgets to think up some false story. “I’m getting to know him again,” he says helplessly. “I’m remembering how sweet he was, and how much I loved him.”

“Has he told you why he left you?”

“All he’s said about it is that he regrets it.”

Angelica’s nose crinkles. “Honey…”

“Angelica,” Alex says, firm. “I like him. I can’t just stop and start liking Eliza again. That’s not how it works.”

“That’s the sensible thing to do,” she retorts, and gets to her feet. Just before she leaves, she places a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her fingers are soft against his neck. “I wish you the best of luck with this, Alexander. Please don’t get your heart broken again.”

And she even sounds like she means it.

—

Alex goes to John’s after that spectacular shitshow of a conversation. John’s at work, and the kittens are asleep, but they wake up when he places a square of ham in front of each of their noses. Coffee likes him best; she’s endlessly fascinated with his hair, though John’s is their personal favorite. She mewls in greeting when he picks her up, latching onto his shirt and licking his chin. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll attack his hair in a violent frenzy, so he enjoys it while he can.

“You’re a cat,” he whispers to her. “Aren’t cats wise? Tell me what to do about John.”

She scrambles further up his chest and licks his nose with her sandpapery tongue. She’s acorn brown and has eyes as blue as a cornflower. It’d be easy to find a good home for her once eight weeks are up, if that’s what John chose to do. For some reason, the thought makes him nauseous.

The door behind him squeaks as it opens, and Mocha, Cappuccino, and Cocoa scamper at John in delight, screeching for their food. Coffee watches them with the disdain of someone who has done such a thing in the past, but likes to think that she has matured enough to not do something so foolish.

“Hey Alex,” John says breathlessly, picking up Cappuccino and letting the other two wind around his legs. “Did you feed them?”

“Not really.”

“Mm.”

Alex drops Coffee onto the floor to let her join the rest of the litter’s attempt to cause John to have a fatal accident by tripping, and Alex is content to watch. It’s already started to snow outside again, sending flurries of snowflakes cascading past John’s only window.

“Hey, remember when I got this?” He asks John, lifting his hand to show him the scar on the back of his hand when John glances over his shoulder.

John raises his eyebrows cooperatively. “How could I forget? I think I had a panic attack.”

“It wasn’t even that bad—”

“Alex, you could have lost the use of your fingers if it’d gone deep enough. Let me have this one,” John sighs, placing the filled with chunks of ham onto the floor and watching the kittens attack it. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and looks anywhere but at Alex.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Alex continues, “do you remember what you told me in the hospital? After you stopped panicking, I mean,” he adds, when John scrunches his eyebrows in a deeply confused expression and opens his mouth to respond.

“That I was going to murder you if I died of a heart attack after this?”

“After they stopped the bleeding,” Alex clarifies again, trying to hold back a smile.

John’s forehead scrunches as he tries to remember the exact moment Alex is thinking about. Alex is just pleased that he’s actually putting effort into it, so he doesn’t mind all that much when John shrugs and says, “No, sorry. I’ve forgotten. You have to understand that hadn’t panicked that much since a girl tried to kiss me in fifth grade.”

“I suppose you’ve forgotten everything from that incident too,” Alex remarks, and John nods sagely. “Well, once you got over the death threats, you got strangely poetic,” Alex continues, leaning his head back against the armrest and smiling wickedly at John. “You probably thought I was asleep.”

John’s eyes widen with realization. “Oh wait, no, I remember. Alex—”

“You told me that even if the ground swallowed us whole, even if the sky turned lime green and started to kill everyone—hey, do you still hate green as much as you did before?—and even if the universe forced us to be apart, you’d tear down entire cities to find a way back to me,” Alex finishes with a dramatic flourish of his arm, and John hides his face in his hands to cover the blush that’s starting to spread to the tips of his ears. “I think I also remember you telling me that my eyes look like dark citrine. What is that, by the way?” 

“I did  _ not _ say that!” John protests weakly from between his fingers. “And even if I did, I’m not to be held responsible for the things I said then.”

Alex laughs, delighted. “I thought it was adorable. That’s why I remember it word for word.”

“ _ How?  _ You were under pain meds!”

“Not all of them make you incoherent,” Alex reminds him, brushing his thumb over the scar again and grinning. “I was just half-asleep.”

“ _ Why are you bringing it up now?”  _ John asks, distressed, before pausing and saying, “Wait, this is punishment, isn’t it? I don’t know for what, exactly, but—”

“ _ No _ . I just wanted to tell you that I felt the same back then,” Alex says matter-of-factly, and John breaks off, startled. “And um, over the last few months, I kind of realized that I still do.” He ducks his head and doesn’t meet John’s eyes, even though he can feel John’s stare burning into the side of his head. “But you left, John, and I don’t know if I can go through that again. I’ve forgiven you for it, mostly, but I was a wreck for months,  _ years,  _ after that. I can’t.”

He finally raises his eyes, but John isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s staring at the floor, mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. His eyes are hidden by his hair, but Alex can imagine the haunted look in his eyes perfectly well. He’s seen it often enough in these past few months, on John’s road to recovering from the streets.

“You’ve apologized,” Alex whispers. “And I’m grateful for that. But, John—”

“Alex,” John says in a raw voice, still not meeting his eyes, “I know I’m never going to be able to apologize enough for that. I know it was horrible for you, but believe me when I say it was awful for me too. I went to Martha’s, and didn’t leave her apartment until I found one of my own a month later. I stayed in the fetal position for at least a week.” He lets out a hollow laugh. “I wanted to come back every single day, but Martha would remind me that I left for a reason.”

“ _ Martha, _ ” Alex says savagely.

John laughs, sounding almost genuine, but not quite. “Don’t judge Martha, she was being a good friend. She didn’t pry about my reasons for leaving, and I didn’t tell her.”

“John, she probably thought she had a shot with you, now that I was out of the picture.”

John gives him an exasperated look. “Martha was doing what friends do. She was to me what Eliza is to you.”

“Eliza’s in love with me,” Alex points out.

John makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “We’re getting off the subject. What I’m trying to say, Alex,” he walks over to stand in front of Alex, staring unblinkingly into his eyes, “is that it was just as awful for me as it was for you. And I  _ never  _ want to go through that again.”

Alex stares at him.

“And if it means staying with you forever,” John continues with a hesitant smile, “then that’s what I’m going to do. I’m never leaving again. I mean, I’m happy to stay as friends if you want. And,” he frowns, “obviously I’m not going to stay if you hate me and never want to see me again. But, um, that doesn’t seem to be the case?”

“It isn’t,” Alex says, relieved. “I like you a lot, John Laurens. Maybe it's a bad decision, but—yeah."

John takes a step closer, then another. "I'll make sure it's not a bad decision," he whispers, and leans in. 

It isn't a frantic kiss. Alex thought that it might be; desperation, longing, clutching each other after long apart. It isn't. It's slow, languid, like winter melting into spring. The faintest touch of tongue. John's mouth is warm. His hands drift up to frame Alex's face, to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, and Alex's knees feel weak because finally,  _finally,_ this feels right, this feels familiar, this is happiness and safety and comfort. 

—

Alex stumbles through the door of John's apartment, smiling appreciatively at the quaintness of it, because no matter how often he comes here, it will always have a sort of charm that his large apartment doesn’t have. John's at the small counter, making some kind of healthy shake. It’s dark green and probably the most unappetizing thing Alex has seen in a while.

Cappuccino rushes to greet him, and Alex tiredly reaches down to run a hand over his back. They’re getting big already; thick fur and eyes fading from blue into yellow.

John looks up with a smile. "Hey, Alex. Want some?"

Alex lets his face answer that question, and John laughs.

"Point taken. Do you want anything? I should have some tea here somewhere."

Alex walks over to the small couch and curls up, wrapping the nearest blanket around himself and closing his eyes. "Sleep. It's been an awful day. My latest client is so difficult, even I'm half convinced he's guilty. It's just," he lets out a sigh as his stiff muscles relax into the couch, "exhausting."

"That's rough," John murmurs sympathetically, “Chamomile tea?”

Alex shakes his head, because for once he doesn’t need the incentive to help him sleep, and the loud whirr of the blender starts again, the constant noise drowning out the facts and speeches and voices out of his mind.

"You're so lucky," Alex continues when the noise stops, anything to keep his thoughts from returning, "that there's no possibility that your clients are mass murderers."

John laughs, and there's the sound of bare feet padding on wood and the fridge opening. "I think you'd be surprised. When should I wake you?"

"Four hours."

"Eight hours it is. Go to sleep, Alex."

"C'mere," Alex says sleepily, finally blinking his eyes open and stretching out his arms.

John quirks an eyebrow at him. He's been practically radiant with happiness these days, and while Alex might be slightly full of himself, he's not arrogant enough to think that it's all due to him. He knows it's because he's finally got a place of his own, he's finally rid of his father, and he's got a job he likes.

And Alex is happy as long as John is happy.

"Do you want a hug or me to go to sleep with you? Because I can't do the second one."

"Ugh," Alex says, dropping his arms. "You're so  _ busy _ ."

John laughs again and walks over to him, brushing strands of hair away from his forehead and pressing his lips to the bare skin. "Sleep. I'll be back in a few hours."

And when he wakes up, John is there, working on a workout regimen for one of his clients at the table. His curls are falling over his face and obscuring his eyes, his mouth twisted in concentration. Mocha and Coffee are asleep on the table next to him; one of Coffee’s paws rests on the edge of one paper.

Alex pushes the blanket off, and John looks up at the sudden movement. "Hey, sleeping beauty."

"How long was that?"

"Seven hours."

Alex lets his head fall back onto the armrest with a groan. He's wasted hours that could have gone into working on the introduction he has to give tomorrow, but he knows that there's no way he'll be able to make John apologize for it.  _ Your health matters too, Alex, _ he'd say, with his face scrunched into a small concerned frown that makes crinkles appear at the corners of his mouth.

“I need to go,” he mumbles, pushing off the blanket and dragging himself to his feet. The clock on the wall reads five thirty, which means he’s probably in for another sleepless night.

“To write that introduction? Just do it here,” John suggests, glancing up at him briefly before returning his attention to the paper and scribbling a few words.  _ He’s not even trying to be beautiful, _ Alex thinks as he stares at him,  _ but he still is. _

“Nah,” Alex says, reaching over and brushing a strand of hair behind John’s ear. John smiles. “Too distracting. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Earlier,” John insists.

“I’ll spend the night here?” Alex offers.

John grins lazily. “Hush, the children will hear you make such salacious remarks.”

“The children are asleep.”

“Still.” John reaches out and pulls Alex down to him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. “See you soon, babe.”

Alex smiles, picking Cappuccino up where he’s excitedly winding around his legs and perching him on his shoulder. “I’m taking Capo back to my apartment with me.”

“Go ahead,” John says, and his focus is already back on his work. “Just bring him back before dinner.”

Alex tucks the Tom into his jacket, waiting until Capo has scrambled up to poke his head out of the collar before heading to the door. The kitten-soft fur tickles his neck. As he walks back to the apartment, with Cappuccino’s head darting from the left to the right as he curiously takes in the new sights and smells, Alex thinks that this might be the first time in a long while that he’s been this happy. It’s a lovely feeling.


End file.
